Chapter Eight
“How do you feel today?”
Mevine glanced up from his work. His red eyes and pained expression indicated the Tgren wines had taken their toll on his body. Byron suspected his friend had indulged more than he was accustomed to at last night’s festival, especially if he was still feeling the effects this late in the afternoon.
Mevine moaned and leaned back in his chair. “Awful,” he admitted, his shoulders sagging. “Felt like I was going to die this morning.”
Byron chuckled. “Maybe you should take it easy on the spirits next time.”
Closing his eyes, Mevine nodded in acceptance. “I know. Last night I was just so nervous though. I’m really not good in social situations. Thought it would help me relax.”
“You were relaxed all right. And bold!”
Mevine’s face fell. “Sir, I’m sorr
